His Knight
by CyberSupernatural
Summary: Dean was Sam's knight when he was six ..... and he still is. Spoilers for BUABS. Third part up!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer : **Santa keeps missing them on my Christmas list so yeah …… they don't belong to me.

**A/n :** This is my first fan fiction story so be nice :D

**His Knight**

By CyberSupernatural

"_You can be the prince and I'll be the knight."_

"_Dean?"_

"_C'mon, let's battle!"_

"_Dean?"_

"_Yeah, kiddo?"_

"_Will you always be my knight?"_

"_As long as you want me to, Sammy."_

He can't help but stare, his darker eyes eating up his brother's face, devouring the reassurance offered by Dean's presence in the driver's seat of the sleek, black Impala.

He can't help but breathe in the quiet confidence of Dean's fingers on the steering wheel, so sure, as he guides the car to goodness-knows-where.

There's something so determined, so calm, so soothing about Dean's demeanor and he can't help but let it simply wash over him.

"_As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen too you."_

The words come back to him and his eyes tear over slightly, forcing him to draw his gaze away from the older man and look out of the window, at the fleeing landscape, instead.

He takes too much …. He knows that. Dean had literally thown away his childhood away far one brown-haired, puppy-dog eyed kid. And he repaid it by leaving him to go to college.

_College._

The word which had been a dream earlier now left a bitter taste in his mouth. He'd ditched Dean for college. No, of course, he'd done it only to spite their dad, but he'd ditched Dean. He came back, of course, but he'd ditched Dean.

His eyes tear up some more. Even that is out of control.

Meg used him to hurt to hurt Dean.

But it wasn't him … and he believes that now. It still didn't erase the fact that Dean had been shot in the shoulder, not to mention continually punched.

And even after all of this …. He still took. Against his will, a tear slips out from under his eyelashes and burns its way down his cheek. He just takes and takes and takes …. and then takes some more.

Now he's scared and feeling like a piece of shit. So he needs reassurance that after all the crap he's done , Dean still loves him enough to forgive him so - he doesn't want to - his gaze slips from the window ,once again to look at his brother's face……..

And he takes some more.

His eyes are heavy now and the tears are coming faster and he's so..so..scared…it's as if he's morphed from twenty three to three and he hates this taking but he doesn't even notice when his head lolls sideways.

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He looks down at the brown-head resting on his shoulder in surprise. Sam didn't even seem aware of it. He was just lying there, making no attempt to move or start talking. He seemed content to just prop his head on his big brother's strong shoulder. Dean doesn't complain. He waits for Sam to talk but he doesn't seem to want to.

Finally, when Sam does talk, it's not a tear-racked, muffled voice but a clear one that says, "I take too much from you". But it's a broken, wearied, defeated voice which is just as bad and rips Dean's heart into two.

He wants to tell Sam.

Sam doesn't know about the brown-haired boy whose smile lit up Dean's world, Sam doesn't know about the kid whom Dean would die for.

He wants to tell Sam about the brown-haired boy who keeps him sane during the hunting, the boy whose dimples wipe away any wound of Dean's so that it doesn't scar, but he can't.

Instead, he removes one hand from the steering wheel and slips it around Sam's shoulders, tugging him closer, smiling as Sam snuggled in, telling him with actions what he couldn't say with words.

He was just glad that his little brother still needed his knight.

"_Dean?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Can I be your knight, too?"_

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Please review…….::grins::


	2. Not Enough Air

**Disclaimer : **Supernatural does not belong to me.

**A/n : **For those of you who are following Stronger Than Blood, I will update soon. Sorry! This is un-betaed so all the mistakes, the WTFs are all mine. And now for this story ...

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**Not Enough Air**

by CyberSupernatural

Everything's a mess.

Sam grits his teeth and grips the steering wheel too hard, he knows he does, and for the first time, Dean doesn't say anything. Dean is staring out of the window, looking lost, and Sam's tempted to point out that it's his pose. His neck seems to turn by itself to shoot Dean a look filled with ... guilt? Sorrow? He doesn't know anymore.

He just feels cold.

_The deal ..._ something chokes up Sam's throat and suddenly, there's not enough air to breathe. Sam wants this all to be over, he wants to be curled up in some meadow somewhere, looking up at the sky, the soft, green grass around him.

What if he doesn't ... what if Dean really ... Panic fills his head an he can't see the road anymore, he can't _see. _Sam clenches his fists against the steering wheel, blinking hard and trying to rid the image of Dean's body, torn bloody by the hell-hounds, Dean being taken away, Dean's _not here_ ...

_Oh God ..._

He's killed his mother.

He's killed his father.

He's killed Jessica.

... And now, he's going to kill Dean.

Tears fill his eyes and he gasps slightly, feeling Dean's alarmed gaze on him. Dean's saying something, something like _stop the damn car_ and he thinks that's a good idea - he doesn't want to get them both into heaven or hell ahead of schedule. _Schedule ... _it's so funny that he begins to laugh histerically, burying his face into his hands, after pulling the car up to the curb.

He's too cold.

He doesn't feel anything.

He doesn't feel _Dean._

Sam thinks he can give up now, he can lie down now and beg for some power to kill him. Because everything's a mess.

Suddenly ... warm arms are around his cold as death body, warmth surrounds him, and Dean's saying something, he can't hear because of his own sobs, loud and broken, wracking through his entire body. Dean's kneeling on the gravel, holding him securely and he sobs out his brother's name in one, long, drawn breath.

"Dean ... _Dean ... Dee ... "_

Dean's yelling now, he thinks, he's yelling something even as Sam continues to cry, face pressing against the side of Dean's neck, arms clutching at the leather jacket - a smell of comfort, smell of _home_, filling his cold body ... and he thinks he warms up a little.

There isn't enough air to breathe, not enough of Dean to hold on to.

Dean's stroking his hair in the perfect, gentle, big-brother manner and the yelling's subsided just like Sam's sobs and he's whispering something into Sam's ear, but try as he might, he can't hear what Dean's saying.

_Say it's okay, say you'll stay, because I love that lie._

His brother loves him too much, he knows that, it's this love that's gonna send Dean to hell. Literally. And he hates himself so much for that.

He should be the one dead. He should be the one suffering. He's killed almost everyone close to him -_ isn't that suffering enough_, he wants to ask. _Please don't take him away too. _But he knows, no matter how hard he cries, how hard he screams, no one's going to hear him. Least of all God. He believed in Him once, he prayed, but there's no such preson. Dean was right, there're no angels, there's no God.

He hates the way he keeps taking and never giving, he hates how he was the one responsible - no matter what Dean said - for so many innocent peoples' deaths, he hates how he's going to be the reason for his brother's death.

He's gripping Dean's jacket so hard he can feel skin in his grasp and finally - _finally _- his ears catch Dean's quiet voice, "I got you."

And ... he breathes. Draws in greedy gulps of air, gasping and panting, being weak like he is, holding Dean too tight against him, like he'll never let go and everything's warm inside him, everything's gonna be okay because Dean says so and big brother knows best. He wants to stay this way forever, leaning half out of the car, Dean's arms around him, fingers moving through his hair.

It might not be this way a year from now.

"_Dean ..._" his voice is panic-stricken and before he can start crying again, before he can become cold again, Dean's voice washes over him. And he wants to memorize everything about his brother. Remember him forever.

_Strong arms ... holding him, protecting him, needing him ... Green eyes ... watching him, smiling at him, hurt by him ... Warm heart ... kind and sweet, needed to be held tight, few are worthy, few knew ... love too strong, too fierce, too devoted ... _He hasn't forgotten a thing.

"I got you."

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**A/n : **Well? Well? looks around excitedly What d'you think? Review!!


	3. Some Things Never Change

**Disclaimer : **I don't own anything. Swear.

**A/n : **This is un-betaed so all mistakes are mine.

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**Some Things Never Change**

He hurts all over.

His muscles are on fire and his arm feels like someone's ripped from his shoulder, not to mention the gash on his forehead throbbing like a bitch. It so sucked to be him right now.

His brown eyes are on the motel's puke-green, peeling off wallpaper. Dean's criteria certainly wasn't the color when he chose this motel, because it's tearing his already aching head into two distinct parts ... he can't remember where Dean went.

He searches his memory and recalls a one-sided conversation about getting some supplies. Right. To patch him up. He's sure the gash on his head requires stitches - four or five, he's sure. He still can't remember when Dean left. Did he say when he was going to come back? Maybe not.

He's lying on some rough material, a sorry excuse for a rug, on an equally hard bed, and wasn't that doing wonders to his back!

Sam sighs, wondering how much longer Dean will be ... his head hurts and he doesn't feel so good.

He's thirsty, his throat is parched and when he tries to get up, the wallpaper moves - it _moves!_ And Sam lies back down almost immediately. Bummer.

_This is my life, _he thinks miserably, crappy hotels, crappy jobs, crappy supernatural. How unfair. _They_ were supposed to hunt these things. And why did these things exist anyway? Whose fault was it? Should he blame himself or Dad? 'Cause he'd never balme Dean. Nothing was Dean's fault, he only tried to make things better.

The questons made his head hurt more and he decided to stop before he started pondering over the maning of life, 'cause he was very close.

And that goddamn wallpaper! There was something about it that was pissing Sam off. Whose wallpaper was it and how come they had to put it in the room he was in? Was it a conspiracy? Against him? A Mission To kIll Sammy By Wallpaper Method? That made him laugh. As if Dean would let them.

And maybe he was closer to the meaning of life than he thought.

There it was - ugly green staring back at him, undaunted. God, he hated it! He needed to get up and rip it off. Now. And it moved again!

Sam sighs and pushes off the covers. Some things never change.

He wanted his brother.

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Dean stumbled up the stairs till he reached the little room - 67.

His ankle was probably twisted but Sammy was far more hurt. His ankle could wait. Besides he'd had much worse.

When he pushed the door open, he froze in his steps, shocked at the sight before him. Sam was standing, trying to walk!

Dean launched himself across the room, grabbing hold of his almost-falling brother with a loud, audible, "Oof! Sam!"

Surprisingly, Sam turned into the impromtu embrace and closed his eyes, "I don't like it."

Dean walked them both to the bed, seating Sam down firmly on it, "Like what, Sam?"

Sam shrugged, offering him a lopsided grin, "Dunno."

Dean stared for a moment, jaw dropping open before he shook his head and snorted, "You are wierd. Lie down, Sammy. I gotta stitch your forehead."

Sam's face fell, but he obeyed, "Four?"

"Maybe, Sam. Now, why don't you lie quietly till I finish, huh? You're on morphine and you don't want to say things that you'd regret later."

"Okay."

Sam lay back and concentrated hard on the freckles on his big brother's face, which were suddenly very close.

Some things never changed - crappy hotels, Dean, green wallpapers, Dean, bad jobs, Dean ...

And it was a _good_ thing.

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**A/n : **Jesus, where did that come from? Review!!


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